


Rainy Day Diversions

by ancalime8301



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Domestic, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnant Sex, shkinkmeme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-24
Updated: 2010-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-18 18:51:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancalime8301/pseuds/ancalime8301
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Staying at the seaside for a time, Watson and a rather pregnant Holmes find things to do on a rainy day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rainy Day Diversions

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [shkinkmeme](http://shkinkmeme.livejournal.com/) [prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/shkinkmeme/5516.html?thread=9604748#t9604748): _Heavily pregnant!Holmes getting fucked by Watson y/y? Or maybe riding him?  
>  (I'd love this to be Granada!verse or book!canon, but I'll take anything. <3)_

The melancholy improvisation trembled to its close; Holmes sighed and lowered the instrument, resting its side on his stomach as he began plucking it mindlessly, staring at the rain-streaked window. Watson was napping on the settee, the combined sound of drumming rain and the crash of the surf on the nearby beach easily lulling him into slumber. Now Holmes understood why the seaside was not a popular destination in early January, though the lack of neighbors suited their purposes quite nicely. Fewer neighbors meant fewer prying eyes, after all, and fewer eyes that saw him in his condition meant fewer wagging tongues.

The restless babe within him kicked at the violin, making it jump slightly. Holmes smiled and moved it to his knee, holding neck and bow in one hand so he could smooth the other over the spot where he'd been kicked. A few more weeks, perhaps a month, and he and Watson would have a wholly new set of concerns revolving around a small infant. It was difficult to fathom, even for him. Particularly for him.

The babe continued kicking and squirming. Holmes set his violin in the open case resting beside him on the window seat, then awkwardly stood and went to the settee, taking Watson's hand from where it lay and setting it over the drumming feet. Watson so enjoyed feeling the movement; even in sleep he smiled to feel the tiny heels bumping against his palm. Holmes sat on the edge of the settee, then leaned over and kissed the corner of Watson's smile, still holding Watson's hand to his stomach.

Watson's eyes opened a crack and he kissed Holmes back, his free hand settling at Holmes' nape and tugging him closer. Holmes willingly complied, bracing one arm against the back of the settee so he wouldn't overbalance onto Watson. His other hand rested briefly on Watson's chest, then began undoing Watson's shirt buttons as they continued slowly, thoroughly kissing. Watson soon followed suit, quickly opening Holmes' shirt and caressing the bare skin of Holmes' swollen belly with both hands; a shudder raced down Holmes' spine.

Holmes pulled away from Watson's mouth to murmur, "You are wearing far too much clothing." His efforts to remove Watson's shirt had revealed that the insufferable man was also wearing an undershirt. He leaned down and nipped Watson's nipple through the offending garment.

Watson writhed and gasped and offered no resistance when Holmes inflicted the other nipple with the same treatment. When he could think sufficiently to speak, he said, "Some of us don't have another's body heat to help keep warm."

Holmes humphed and stood up. He eyed Watson's prone form for a moment, then grasped Watson's trousers and pulled them halfway down his thighs; only then did Watson realize that Holmes had unfastened his trousers. Holmes stepped free of his own trousers and bent to kiss Watson again. "Shall I keep you warm?" he asked against Watson's mouth, dragging his lower lip across Watson's mustache.

He knelt on the settee, straddling Watson's legs, hovering over him teasingly for a moment before settling on his heels and taking Watson's cock in his mouth. Watson moaned, reaching up to bite his hand and suppress his cries before remembering where they were -namely, at least a half mile distant from any neighbors. He put his hand down and moaned again, louder. Holmes chuckled, obviously following his train of thought, and the vibration nearly made Watson come then and there.

Holmes licked Watson's cock in one smooth stroke, then let it escape his lips. He crawled up Watson's body until he could kiss him again, then sat up on his knees and carefully eased back, settling slowly onto Watson. Watson breathed unsteadily, nearly whimpering at the overwhelming tightness of Holmes taking him in with no preparation. His hands reached out to touch, to hold, one gripping Holmes' hip while the other settled on that deliciously distended stomach, rubbing and caressing it almost worshipfully.

They both groaned when Watson was fully seated in Holmes, Holmes' cock trapped between their bodies as he leaned forward to recapture Watson's lips in his while his passage adjusted to the familiar intrusion. Then Holmes started moving, slowly rising and falling along the line of Watson's cock until that pace wasn't enough to satisfy either of them and he had to adjust himself, one hand on the back of the settee and one foot braced on the floor to provide sufficient leverage.

With the improved rhythm came a slight change in angle; Holmes shuddered and shook on every downstroke as Watson's cock grazed the pleasure spot, and Watson could feel the tightening around him that preceded release. Watson moved his hand from Holmes' hip and slid it between their bodies, taking Holmes in a firm grip. His other hand meandered up to Holmes' chest, his thumb circling a nipple before he dragged his thumb over the sensitive nub.

Holmes came with a cry that quickly subsided into a moan and Watson followed right after, the expression on Holmes' face and the feel of Holmes' body clenching around him enough to push him over the edge. It took a few moments for either of them to do more than pant and shudder; Holmes was the first to move, shrugging off his unbuttoned shirt and swiping it at the mess he'd made on the underside of his belly. He knew he ought to get off of Watson, but he was suddenly so tired that to stand up seemed an impossible feat, never mind that he was partway there already with one foot on the floor.

Watson tugged on Holmes' arm until Holmes laid down between Watson and the back of the settee, his stomach resting against and somewhat on top of Watson, who rubbed it fondly. Holmes yawned, his head on Watson's shoulder, and idly ran his fingers over Watson's still-clothed chest. Watson pulled the afghan off the back of the settee and draped it over Holmes, kissing the top of his head. "Sleep if you can," he encouraged. Watson knew from the chill of the sheets (he checked whenever he woke, which was often when Holmes was absent from the bed) and the circles under Holmes' eyes that he did not sleep well at night, as was often the case with women in this advanced state. Holmes mumbled incoherently and was asleep directly afterward.

Holmes' nap wasn't nearly long enough to replace a night's sleep, but he woke feeling better than he had in several days. Watson had extricated himself at some point and placed pillows under Holmes' head and stomach to keep him comfortable. Holmes sat up and winced, his back protesting his earlier enthusiasm. He bent forward as far as he could to get the kinks out, but as far as he could go wasn't nearly far enough to do any good, and he slumped against the back of the settee with a sigh.

Watson appeared from the direction of the kitchen, bearing a cup of tea. "It's about time for lunch," he said, handing Holmes the cup and bending to retrieve Holmes' trousers from the floor. "Do you have any requests?"

He might as well have asked what will go down and stay down, for that was the actual question. It was a good question, and the answer changed from meal to meal. Holmes had never expected to long for the day when he could sit down at the table and eat what was in front of him without worrying about it coming back up. "Is there any of that ham left?"

"Yes, there should be enough for you, and I can get more tomorrow if the rain lets up. A sandwich, or just the ham?" He set the trousers on the cushion next to Holmes and patted his knee.

"Just the ham, please," Holmes said, sipping his tea. Watson retreated toward the kitchen; Holmes carefully set the cup on the cushion beside him and started pulling on his trousers, getting them as far as his thighs. He finished his tea before standing to finish donning the low-slung pants, then looked around in confusion. "Where is my shirt?" he called to Watson.

"I have it soaking. I didn't think Mycroft would want it returned with stains." Watson called back.

Holmes snorted and pulled the afghan around his shoulders. He considered fetching his dressing gown, but as it currently didn't wrap all the way around him, it wasn't much use unless he was wearing a shirt underneath, and he didn't think he had any more shirts clean. He'd been reluctant to accept too many items from Mycroft; the idea of wearing his brother's clothing and having it fit was somewhat off-putting, even though the alternative was to wear shirts that didn't button or to wear no shirt at all (Watson rather enjoyed it when he exercised that option).

Lunch was a success, but it made him feel sleepy again. He managed to persuade Watson to serve as his pillow again, and napped for much of the afternoon, drooling on Watson's shoulder while Watson tried to read a novel.

When it came time for bed, Holmes wasn't tired. He said as much to Watson, who rolled his eyes and muttered something about sleeping away the day. Watson lured him into bed with the promise of a back rub, which Holmes could certainly use. Sleeping on the settee, even with a Watson-pillow, evidently disagreed with him.

Watson started with Holmes on his side, but quickly decided that wouldn't do and had him kneel on the bed, sitting on his heels. Holmes' skin glistened with a sheen of oil as Watson expertly kneaded the small of Holmes' back, down over his hips, and up along his spine.

At length, he moved closer, kneeling directly behind Holmes, and slid his arms around Holmes' body, skimming the oil over the skin of his stomach. "Feel better?" he murmured in Holmes' ear, licking the outer edge of his ear and down Holmes' neck, then lightly bit Holmes' shoulder.

Holmes only groaned, laying his hands over Watson's and letting his head tip back onto Watson's shoulder. He turned and kissed Watson, drawing his arms more tightly around him. The kiss was open-mouthed and messy, all teeth and tongues and saliva. Watson groaned, feeling arousal pooling in his groin, and wondered if it was too much to hope that Holmes would be up to another round.

Then Holmes pressed back against him, grinding his hips against Watson's growing erection, and whispered, "Take me, John."

Evidently Holmes really could read his mind. Watson was immediately hard and quite flustered. "Right here, like this?" he panted, arching into Holmes and grateful he'd not donned his nightshirt.

Holmes chuckled. "That would work, but it's up to you." He kissed Watson again, and Watson cursed the distraction when he needed at least part of his brain able to think. Remaining in this position would make Holmes have to do the work again; kneeling up would be better but might be a difficult position for Holmes to maintain, with the extra weight and its awkward placement. But perhaps . . .

"On your hands and knees," he directed, and Holmes shivered against him, then grinned and squeezed his hands before complying. Watson crawled around to look at him from the side and tried not to notice how very aroused Holmes was. "Is that comfortable? Or does it pull on your back too much?" Holmes' stomach bulged toward the mattress, not touching it but putting forth a good effort, and it looked like it must be painful.

Even before Holmes answered, Watson took their pillows and wedged them beneath Holmes to take some of the weight. "It's fine," Holmes said, reaching out to tug at Watson's arm. "Now get back here."

Watson was only too happy to comply, but stole a kiss before returning to where he could look his fill on Holmes and his enticing backside. He knelt between Holmes' legs, running his hands down Holmes' back and over his buttocks, pulling them apart slightly to run a fingernail around the edge of Holmes' opening. Holmes shuddered, then yelped when the fingernail was replaced with tongue, gliding over the opening, then dancing around it, then probing wetly in its center. Watson cupped Holmes' balls and squeezed them gently as his tongue thoroughly laved the hole and carefully insinuated its way inside.

Holmes panted and gasped, sweat beginning to pool between his shoulderblades and in the small of his back. Finally, when he didn't think he could bear the teasing any longer, Watson ceased touching him entirely. Holmes whined at the loss and Watson chuckled, licking at the sweat on his back. Two oily fingers replaced Watson's tongue and Holmes pushed back as they entered him, taking them deep, and a third was soon added, sliding easily in.

Watson readied himself, pressing his chest to Holmes' back and winding one arm around him to spread his palm on Holmes' stomach as his other hand held his cock steady, and slowly sank into Holmes. He sighed when he was fully inserted, his breath raising goosebumps on Holmes' upper back. He stroked Holmes' thigh, the muscles quivering under his fingers, then took hold of Holmes’ hip. Kissing Holmes’ neck and letting his mustache tickle Holmes’ nape, Watson slowly began to ease out.

He struck up a slow pace, carefully aimed and timed to prolong the experience. After only a few thrusts, Holmes hung his head and whimpered, quivering every time Watson brushed his lips or mustache against his skin. Watson continued the steady onslaught, finding it increasingly difficult not to succumb to his own urge to increase the pace and mark Holmes as his in a frenzy of lovemaking.

But then, Holmes was already marked as his. Watson pressed both palms against the curve Holmes' stomach and began thrusting a little faster, sweat rising to his skin with the increase in his pulse. Holmes' arms couldn't hold up any longer and he had to rest his forehead on his hands, groaning and panting as he pushed back to meet Watson's thrusts.

When he could feel Holmes shuddering around him, and knew that he was near to the brink, Watson finally took Holmes' cock in his hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the tip before closing his fist and stroking him hard. A sharp intake of breath, then Holmes stopped breathing entirely for several heartbeats, nearly convulsing as warmth flooded over Watson's hand and onto the pillows beneath him. Watson was overcome and cried out as he emptied himself deep into Holmes, barely able to keep himself upright as the tension drained from him.

Watson pulled away to sit down lest he collapse atop Holmes, his knees aching from remaining in one position too long. Holmes remained still for a few moments, then carefully shifted down off the pillows to lie on his side, motionless save his heaving breaths. Watson sat and watched him, quite content, and after several minutes Holmes shifted his gaze toward him. "I think I can sleep now," he said, quirking a smile.

Watson could only laugh. "You'd better hope I can find more pillows. You've rather soiled ours."

"Whose fault is that?" Holmes shot back with a grin, kicking the damp pillows toward him.

Watson tossed the top pillow on the floor, but found the other two would be usable if he could find different covers. Holmes sat up against the headboard and watched him as he rummaged through the wardrobe and the chest for linens or pillows. In the end, he had to fetch the pillows from the settee to make do for the night, and with the re-covered pillows, they were set.

"The rain's stopped," he said as he slipped into bed behind Holmes, pressing himself close to Holmes' back and sliding his arms around him. "I'll go to the village tomorrow if the weather holds."

"Hmm," Holmes replied, sounding either half-asleep or lost in thought.

Watson tightened his arms briefly and kissed Holmes' nape. Holmes squeezed his hands and made a contented noise that was cut short by a gasp of surprise. Before Watson could ask, Holmes moved one of his hands to his belly so Watson could feel the tightening. "Ah," Watson said, "Another one of those. It will be soon, you know, and we still need to talk about a few things."

"I know," Holmes said wearily. "But not now."

"No, not now," Watson agreed, rubbing his hand soothingly over Holmes' stomach. They fell into a comfortable silence, and Watson started to doze.

"I'm not going to be able to sit down tomorrow," Holmes grumbled, shifting uncomfortably.

"You did ask for it," Watson said with a sleepy chuckle. "I thought you said you would be able to sleep."

Holmes humphed and stopped squirming. "I thought I would."

"Would changing position help?"

"I don't know." Holmes was beginning to feel a bit snappish.

"Then try it," Watson said encouragingly. Holmes grumbled a bit under his breath but rolled over and arranged them as they had been on the settee. "Better?" Watson asked once Holmes had settled.

"Yes," Holmes murmured against Watson's shoulder, his fingers idly smoothing Watson's chest hair.

Watson pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Then sleep," he said, and tried to take his own advice. Outside, the rain began anew.


End file.
